What I wouldn’t say to John’s kids

Sometimes I pretend my kids are my husband’s kids. While also pretending my husband is my boyfriend.

I’m cool af. Relatively.

Most of what I say to my kids — when I’m not pretending they are someone else’s kids—I would never say to my sweet boyfriend’s kids.

I would never say to my boyfriend’s kids: “Come on! Are you kidding me?! This is the trail you wanted to ski today!”

I would never say, “Please don’t ask me the same question all day over and over again. I just don’t think I can handle that today.”

Some of my best parenting is performative.

So what.

I used to get bad grades. I used to make prank phone calls. I used to stay out late. I used to smoke cigarettes. I used to have cavities and credit card debt.

I used to dance, very seriously, with friends, in kitchens we didn’t own, while singing loudly into wooden spoons and metal spatulas, as if they were microphones, as if we might never stop.